


The Magic Touch

by LukasV



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Brief F/M, F/M, Face-Fucking, Josiah is a master of sucking cock, M/M, Rimming, molly O'shea indirect interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasV/pseuds/LukasV
Summary: Trelawny is a man of many talents, but tricks and magic are just the start...
Relationships: Josiah Trelawny/Dutch Van Der Linde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	The Magic Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick collection of Vanderlawny drabbles from my tumblr! These are all very short and aren't linked in any way so try to just enjoy them as individual little bits of writing~

Dutch had originally suggested it as a joke to _“get 5 minutes of peace from your incessant talking”_ , but couldn’t believe his eyes when the well-spoken man complied, backing him up against the wall and dropping to his knees.

He had expected the clumsiness that he always had imagined would come with a man's mouth, but couldn’t help but clamp a hand over his lips when that tongue started dancing circles around the head of his cock, working every inch of him expertly.

He throws his head back against the wall in mindless pleasure, ringed fingers scrabbling wildly at the Englishman’s hair, ruffling out the pomade so it falls messy over his forehead.

It was _good_. Better than any saloon girl, better than molly… _better than Annabelle even._

His size had always been a challenge for most, but Trelawny didn’t even flinch when he sunk his mouth down to the base, elegantly curled moustache tickling the sensitive skin of Dutch's groin making his thighs tremble.

Not even a minute later he was spending himself down the gentleman's throat, hands turning to fists in his hair, baritone drawl cracking on a strained shout.

The Englishman swallowed gratefully without a second thought before plucking a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his chin.

And for the first time, Dutch was speechless, still propped against the wall, panting in bliss.

* * *

It felt nice.

But ‘nice’ in the same way that even the cheapest, nastiest whiskey still gave a pleasant warmth.

The two of them had been at it for well over half an hour now, but no matter what Molly did… it just wasn’t the same.

_It wasn’t him._

Her lips were lazy, tongue dragging vaguely along the right places. Dutch’s groans were just for show at this point, for he was nowhere near close. “Use your tongue” he half begs. Her eyes narrow, moody, but she complies, tracing it around the sensitive tip and picking up her pace just a touch.

But still, it isn’t enough.

And there was only one thing for it.

He clamps his eyes shut, throwing his head back and imagines.

Imagines the slim feminine hands at his hips as soft gloves. Imagines those green eyes piercing his own, that damn moustache, that coy smile. Imagines Molly’s mouth on his cock fading away and Josiah's skilled lips taking her place instead. That expert tongue dancing along his length effortlessly. Imagines bucking forward down the other mans throat, and him taking it without a sound of protest.

God it was like a drug, a delicious sinful drug he had been aching and craving ever since their encounter.

Oh how he _longed_ for it again, that gentleman’s talents, even just once more.

Finally, the familiar twinges of arousal begin. And he’s lost in the fantasy now, blind to reality.

Hands reaching down for that soft brown hair, strands slick with pomade knotting between his ringed fingers. He can hear it, the wetness of the man's mouth and those soft well-spoken moans and _fuck_ he’s close now.

“Goddamn… Josiah _please_ ”

And then, he is yanked away from his bliss by a voice, an Irish twang that seemed to come with its own air of dread. And when he opens his eyes he’s in his tent again, Molly between his legs, her features sharp with rage.

“Who?”

he’s thinking quickly now, mind racing for an excuse, anything. “Nothing dear, you mishe-” 

“Oh no! I think I bloody heard just fine! So that’s how things are eh?” She’s on her feet again now, shoving him backwards into the cot. “You’re a scandalous bastard Dutch Van Der Linde! You pig!”

And with that she’s gone, storming through the canvas of the tent and off to the other side of camp. Her words didn’t hurt though, they never did, and he was past the point of letting her outbursts ruin his day.

He curls a hand around his cock, still hard and needy and strokes himself slowly, savouring the delicious friction,

He closes his eyes again, and works himself back into his little fantasy.

Josiah's name spilling from his lips shamelessly.

* * *

  
Dutch is panting, hands curling to fists in the pillow beside his head, eyes screwed shut at the attention on his cock. Trelawny had finally returned to camp after months, and he couldn’t pull him into his tent soon enough.

“Turn over for me”

“God damn… not yet Josiah.. _please-_ tease me more first”

He tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly “All these years and still as needy as ever Mr Van Der Linde”

He taps the dark haired man's hips. Ushering him over onto his stomach earning himself a defeated sigh.

Dutch braces for the all too familiar brush of cool slick against his rear, but it doesn’t come.

Feeling instead the hot breath over sensitive skin, the elegant curls of that moustache tracing along his ass cheeks, that skilled tongue licking a stripe over his hole that has him crying out, lurching forward in the bed and scrabbling to twist himself around.

“What in the god??-, what are you doin’?”

“Why I am appreciating you my dear friend, can’t very well give your cock so much attention but neglect a hole as beautiful as this now can I?”

Dutch’s face fades to crimson, Josiah’s praise in that soft spoken British lull, it always made his head spin and his cock twitch.

“I ain’t uh… I ain’t done that before, not on the receiving end at least”

“Just lie back and relax, even you can do that much”

Dutch drops his face into the pillow again, and he’s thankful for it, because when that tongue makes contact with his hole again the groan it works out from him is simply obscene. Josiah’s tongue on a cock was one thing, but _there_... somewhere so _intimate_ … it’s _hypnotizing._

Unrelenting wet hot motion dancing around his hole, tongue tracing imaginary letters.

The Englishman pauses with a frustrated hum, spreading apart the other man's ass. But before Dutch can even open his mouth to protest a hot drop of saliva settles on his hole, slipping down to his balls. 

And then the tongue is back again, smooth hands keeping him spread as he works his hole deeper, finally breaching the tight opening making Dutch grind pathetically into the bed below.

_This god damn man._

_That god damn tongue._

More than worthy of the magician ruse, for that mouth was certainly magical.

Dutch is groaning now, long low deep growls of pleasure muffled into the pillow, hips rolling gently against the bed in a steady rhythm, pushing back against that delicious unbearable contact.

“I bet young miss O’shea can’t reduce you to this… why you’re acting filthier than a common whore”

Dutch cant find the words to respond, high off of the ecstasy he's enduring.

“I must confess dear friend, one does feel a considerable amount of pride having the notorious outlaw Mr Dutch Van Der Linde...” he dances his tongue across the sensitive spot again making Dutch whimper “So _pliant_ under my tongue”

He can’t take it any more, humping desperately against the sheets below him under the duress of Josiah’s talents.

Ten, twenty seconds later and his whole body is stiffening, toes curling as he chokes out a stream of incoherent moans, cock pulsing hot spend into the sheets. Josiah is on his feet again instantly, Ruffling Dutch’s hair playfully where it lay matted and sweat slick against his neck.

“Worth the wait? I _promise_ you I shan't leave it so long next time”

* * *

Josiah could hear the cursing from where he was sat on the ground floor of Shady Belle, tentatively pacing upstairs and knocking on the double doors to his room.

“Dutch? Is everything _alright_ in there? I heard yelling”

“It’s fine!” Dutch barks, admittedly harsher than he intended.

Josiah nudges the door open to be sure and the sight sure is... _something._

Dutch is sat on the floor in his suit, multiple bottles of beard wax strewn about him, moustache thick with the stuff and looking anything _but_ presentable. Molly’s hand mirror is a short distance across the room, face down and its evident its been thrown there in a rage.

“What in heavens is going on here?”

Dutch sighs, defeated, “It’s this god damn beard wax. I swear to god this stuff is damn _useless!_ it just ain’t _workin!_ ”

It’s taking every ounce of Josiah’s decorum not to smirk at the state Dutch has gotten himself it.

“...Would you like some assistance?”

“ _no, no!_ I got this, just, let me try again-”

“Oh don’t be so _difficult_ ” he’s striding across the room now, removing his jacket and laying it on the bed before gesturing to the musty sheets “have a seat”

Dutch rises from the floor reluctantly and sits down, arms crossed.

“Now, first of all, you really should use a comb for this, not just slather it on with your fingers like some crazed ape”

He reaches into his back pocket and plucks out a delicate ivory comb, brushing out the thick layers of wax from Dutch’s many tried and failed attempts. He leans closer, dropping to one knee and inspecting the comb as it runs through the coarse hair making Dutch’s face flare with heat.

Those green eyes are intense and intoxicating, his brow dipped gently in concentration. Dutch averts his gaze to the wall, the door, anywhere but Josiah’s.

“Now, you take a modest amount and work it over the teeth of the comb” He dips his fingers into the wax, rubbing them together before coating the comb and Dutch is thankful he had had the sense to not watch.

“and then, very gently...”

That _hand_ , that _god damn_ hand.

It comes out of nowhere, gently grasping Dutch’s jaw, not rough but firm enough to keep his head steady.

“...You run the comb through as you normally would”

Josiah’s proximity is suffocating, Dutch’s arms dropping to the bed either side of him to support himself.

After a few more seconds that felt like hours, Josiah surrenders Dutch’s jaw, removing the comb and returning it to it’s pocket.

“Now, you use your fingers...” He brings both hands to Dutch’s face, index fingers and thumbs gently pinching the edges of his moustache and twisting the hair between them “and you twist back and forth like so, working it upwards as you go”

His spine is stiff, unmoving. He can feel the Englishman’s hot breath on his lips, smell the sweet pomade on his hair.

His eyes flick to Josiah’s own, and he’s trapped in them almost immediately.

Those lips are inches away and _shit_ he wants nothing more than to push forward and meet them. Josiah’s stare is heavy lidded, breathing erratic and it’s clear the feeling is very much mutual.

“Dutch? You done up there?! Lenny’s got the coach ready, we should get movin’ if were gonna make this party on time!”

It’s Arthur’s voice from somewhere below, both men retracting from each other immediately.

Them... This...

_It’d have to wait._


End file.
